Tag: writing

The Sonnets Revealed

Fresh from conclusively proving that Thomas North is the true author of William Shakespeare’s most celebrated plays, Dennis McCarthy is now tackling the authorship of the Sonnets.

Over the last two centuries, and especially in recent decades, we have made astonishing progress in biology, physics, chemistry, medicine, technology–in all fields of intellectual inquiry—except for Shakespeare studies. And while, yes, most of you reading this do know the origin of the plays, the First Folio, Ben Jonson’s Ode, etc., have now been answered. But there’s still another origin story that I have avoided till now: the Sonnets.

First, consider how strange it is we know so little about them. Shakespeare is the most well researched figure in literary history, and he has written the most oft-analyzed sequence of poems. Yet out of his 154 sonnets, we still have not discovered the addressee of a single one. New books appear every few years raising swords before new candidates. Some have declared them inscrutable; others have dismissed them as mere literary exercises. To put this in perspective: while we have solved the origin of life, cured bacterial infections, invented computers, detected gravitational waves, imaged black holes, landed robots on Mars, unraveled the genetic code for life, and are at the dawn of AGI, we still have no idea whom the world’s most famous poet was comparing “to a summer’s day.” We still don’t know whose eyes were “nothing like the sun.”

But shouldn’t all our new information-tech be able to help here? Can’t our new inventions finally illuminate the identities of the subjects of the world’s most famous poems? Of course, they can, and they have. The dates and the purpose of the sonnets, as well as the identities of the Dark Lady, the Fair Youth, and the Rival Poet have now finally been solved—as have the identities of other subjects of the poems that no one suspected.

I have no opinion on the sonnets, except to say that I have always doubted that all of them were authored by the author of the plays. They simply never struck me as written by the same individual. But I would characterize that as more of an impression than an opinion, it’s certainly never been something I’ve been inclined to suggest, let alone defend.

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The Fictional Western

Morgan posted an interesting history of the fictional Western at Arkhaven:

The American fictional western arrived at the beginning of the twentieth century with the publication of Owen Wister’s The Virginian in 1902. The novel created the archetype of the cowboy as hero. The western story quickly became the mythic literature of the recently closed American frontier. A popular genre in the hands of Zane Gray, Eugene Manlove Rhodes, and Frederick Faust (“Max Brand”) to name a few in the legion of western fictioneers in the form of novels, pulp magazines, and later mass-market paperback books. If J. R. R. Tolkien attempted to create a mythology for England, the western writers created a mythology for the United States of America. Many stories had a setting vaguely late 19th Century time and place. Frederick Faust best known as “Max Brand” often set his stories in an undefined “mountain desert.” He used myths and epics as the plot basis for many of his westerns. Faust’s Hired Guns adapted the Iliad for example.

The western genre was a large part of the pulp magazine market from 1920 to the 1950s, possibly having the majority share. Some pulp fiction writers could be described as generalists, they wrote in various genres. Will F. Jenkins as “Murray Leinster” could be found in the pages of Cowboy Stories, Astounding Stories, Clues Detective, and “Swords and Mongols” in Golden Fleece. Frederick Faust wrote historical adventure under the “George Challis” for Argosy magazine in the 1930s. Faust had the Tizzo series set in the time of Renaissance Italy during the time of Cesare Borgia. He also had the pirate novel “The Naked Blade” in Argosy. Those swashbucklers would later be reprinted in paperback form decades later. At the same time, he was writing spy stories as “Frederick Frost.”

The fictional western story underwent the transformation during and after World War II that had earlier taken place with the detective story as written by Dashiell Hammett. The writing became leaner and more historically accurate. The protagonists were morally ambiguous men (and women) who had lived hard lives. Les Savage Jr. was a pioneer with a hard-boiled presentation coupled with a setting of 1820 to the1850s. The indistinct time and place of the mythic western gave way to the historical western.

Read the whole thing there. I will say that while I’m not a huge Louis L’Amour fan, I very much liked FAIR BLOWS THE WIND. Which, of course, isn’t a Western, but does set the stage for a series of them.

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No, You Cannot Tell

I can tell. JDA can tell. But unless you are already an AI-adept professional author who is actively utilizing the latest technologies, you are demonstrably unable to distinguish between AI-generated text and texts written by accomplished, bestselling writers:

Mark Lawrence is a very successful fantasy writer. His PRINCE OF THORNS has sold more than one million copies. He is one of the many professional authors who, while disdaining the use of textual AI, is concerned about its eventual impact on his profession. He recently conducted a very interesting experiment in which he and three other very well-established professional authors wrote short stories on the same subject, and ChatGPT 5 was prompted for four short stories on the same subject.

You can read all eight stories here and see for yourself if you can tell which stories are human-written and which are AI-generated. You don’t need to vote, and you’ll have to keep track of what you thought of each story yourself.

A statistically-significant number of 964 people, who, being fans of Lawrence are much more literate on average than the norm, read the stories and rated them. The results are intriguing and will probably surprise most people who don’t read here regularly. On average, the readers were able to correctly identify the provenance of 3 out of the 8 stories. Not only that, but the story they rated the highest, and 3 out of the 4 highest-rated stories, were all AI-generated.

Read the whole thing at AI Central. And the next time you see someone going on about “AI slop” or how AI just can’t produce the same emotions and feelings that humans can, you’ll know that they’re just posturing in obvious ignorance.

The ironic thing is that AI is actually going to improve the level of writing, because most books are very mediocre and AI is already better than that.

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Not Martin, Not Sanderson

I think we have to face it. I’m the best candidate to finish A SONG OF ICE AND FIRE:

Over the last year and a half the excuses for A Song of Ice And Fire being incomplete and George R.R. Martin’s inability to finish The Winds of Winter have become more than absurd. The author has gone from blaming toxic fandom, to talking about Trump and fascism in 2024, to a 2025 where he made it clear he’s definitely not even working on the project.

This year alone he’s started a bar in Santa Fe New Mexico and taken on a new project for an animated Hercules movie, leaving fans who started in A Game Of Thrones with the obvious fact that he’s not going to be finishing the series before he dies. In fact, he’s already given interviews stating he’s probably not going to finish it in his lifetime.

It’s become beyond a joke to fans at this juncture, as most people just want him to be honest about the situation, which for whatever reason, Martin refuses to do.

At Worldcon, one fan was bold enough to ask George R.R. Martin the question, one that now has been condemned as “rude” or “inappropriate” despite it being anything but in the context of a panel on the future of epic fantasy.

A bold female fan asked in a hostile room, “George, you’re not gonna be around for much longer. And this is a tough question. This is more directed at Brandon. I was wondering, like, how would you feel about someone else taking over and finishing the books?”

The crowd immediately starts booing as if the question didn’t make any sense, though it is a poignant one especially since Brandon Sanderson was brought in to take over A Wheel Of Time from Robert Jordan upon his passing.

Sanderson can be heard saying “not me,” during the uproar, confirming he wouldn’t be the one to do the job.

George R.R. Martin is so panicked about the question that he immediately gets up to leave the panel.

That’s not quite as crazy as it sounds. I’m one of the very few authors who has successfully written epic fantasy, as I’ll be finishing A GRAVE OF GODS in the next two years. ARTS OF DARK AND LIGHT is one of the few that generally receives better reviews than A SONG OF ICE AND FIRE and furthermore, they look pretty great in leather.

The only problem is that I am almost certainly the very last person on the planet whom George R.R. Martin would select to finish the series. Would I do it if I was asked? Certainly. I already have a pretty good idea how I would fix the structural problem that prevented Martin from finishing it and provide a much better end to the series than Martin and the HBO producers did.

But I have enough to do in making sure that I bring my own series to an end with a satisfying conclusion. Considering how few epic fantasy authors manage to do that, I think it’s a sufficiently difficult challenge that I need not lament the fact that Martin’s is unlikely to end well. Anyhow, my theory is that it’s actually been completed, but Martin prefers to have it published postmortem since he’s still feeling abused by the public reaction to the HBO series and he doesn’t want to risk going through all that again.

Speaking of books, I should mention that tomorrow is the last day to acquire the backer editions of THE ILIAD and THE ODYSSEY. I further note that later this week, we’ll announce the three Signed First Editions that will be produced in very limited runs and will be available for just one month starting later this week. The related and very good news is that we’ve worked out a deal with multiple parties to a) acquire the new machines and b) sell the old ones for the price we paid for them, so assuming that we sell a few of the special editions we’ll be announcing, everything should work out at least as well as we’d planned.

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Shots Fired! Shots Fired!

Much like the way the air grows still and the sky takes on a greenish tinge, one can almost feel the inevitable Facebook rant coming.

With Larry Correia announcing he would be launching a Kickstarter for his new Ark Press venture, a Baen Books insider reached out to Fandom Pulse to vent how similar the series seemed to their hit with him, Monster Hunter International. With Correia taking his own successful work and doing a spin on it for Ark Press, one has to wonder with AI writing becoming as good as it is, who can do MHI better: AI, or Larry Correia himself?

Artificial Intelligence has become increasingly good at writing with giant leaps up in the technological prowess over the last year, especially with the help of Claude Sonnet and Claude Opus 4.0 delivering prose levels many never thought possible.

Vox Day has been experimenting with AI to no small degree, making full albums out of music on Suno and testing the capabilities on short stories ranging from styles of Neil Gaiman, to John Scalzi, and even Larry Correia, pioneering the future in AI art.

Meanwhile, in traditional publishing, it appears as if Baen Books is in massive trouble as Correia sees the proverbial writing on the wall and has taken moves to diversify out of his long-time publisher and now announced he’s going to be kickstarting a series, American Paladin, that sounds very similar to Monster Hunter International, his long-time gun urban fantasy series that’s been a hit with Baen over the years.

Ark Press, his new publisher which is owned by mega-billionaire Peter Thiel, seemed to want an MHI-style story out of Correia to launch the press, and they’ve advertised its similarities as well.

Since Correia is taking his hit series and giving a new take on it, the question is, can AI build a better modern iteration of MHI than Larry Correia himself can given its new found prowess?

Vox Day has already been working on this with a serialized novel called Monster Control Inc. In this, he’s trained AI to write in Larry Correia’s style to provide a signature version that reads enough like Correia that if you didn’t know it was written by AI, you might think it’s Correia’s novels.

Just to be clear, Monster Control Incorporated utilizes a judicious blend of literary seasonings, one of which is Larry Correia’s. But because the objective was to utilize a Gamma protagonist, and since Larry is the most Delta author who ever wrote a Delta self-insert since Louis Lamour laid down his prolific pen, it was necessary to bring in other elements in order to capture that inimitable Gamma snark, passive-aggressiveness, and relentless obsession with unattainable women.

I also didn’t think that Larry’s signature gun porn was desirable in this case, although I certainly did utilize that in my non-AI Quantum Mortis novel, A Man Disrupted, and to such an extent that more than one review even asserted that I had outcorreia’d Correia himself, although I think that was not actually true and was merely an overenthusiastic response to my incorporation of orbital artillery into a police procedural.

It will be an interesting test, though. Can one of the leading critics of textual AI write a better pastiche of his own style than an AI can? Read Monster Control Incorporated and find out!

I’ve been walking my crush home since last week to protect her from all the creeps walking around. Next week I’m going to introduce myself to her.

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A Test of Three Tales

Just to give people here an idea of what sort of thing they’ll be able to find at AI CENTRAL, I posed three different AI text engines the same very specific challenge: a 2,500-word story in the style of a brilliant author. Bonus points if you can guess which author it was from this excerpt from one of the three entrants:

The Scarlet Visitor

The city of Paradyse rose from the sea like a dream of gold and shadow, its towers clawing at the sky, its streets winding in serpentine coils. Ships from distant lands brought spices, silks, and secrets to its harbors, but none so strange as the vessel that came on the eve of the Festival of Masks.

It was a ship without a name, its sails the color of dried blood, its hull black as a starless night. The dockmaster, a wizened man named Orlan, squinted at it through the salt-haze and crossed himself—though he could not say why. When the gangplank descended, only one figure emerged: a woman wrapped in a scarlet cloak, her face hidden behind a veil of silver lace.

She moved through the city like a whisper, her steps soundless, her presence drawing eyes yet leaving no impression. The people of Paradyse were accustomed to strangeness—this was a city where nobles wore living jewels that whispered secrets, where the dead sometimes walked the markets at dusk—but there was something about her that unsettled even the most jaded souls.

The woman took lodging at the Inn of the Twisted Serpent, a place frequented by those who did not wish to be found. The innkeeper, Madame Vex, was a creature of sharp angles and sharper wits, her fingers adorned with rings that could sting like scorpions. She offered the stranger a room without asking for coin, sensing that some debts were best left unspoken.

“How long will you stay in our fair city?” Madame Vex inquired, her voice like honeyed poison.

The woman lifted her veil just enough to sip her wine. Her lips were the same crimson as her cloak. “Until my business is concluded.”

“And what business is that?”

A smile, fleeting as a knife’s gleam. “The oldest kind.”

And there is a very clear and obvious winner, which may be of interest to some of the writers here. Visit AI CENTRAL to read all three entrants and see the verdict.

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The Vessel of Dreams

Since Neil Gaiman presumably won’t be publishing anything ever again, it falls to AI to imagine what might have been.

The bathtub was a vessel of dreams, a porcelain ship adrift in a sea of steam and possibility. Neil sank into the warm embrace of the water, the world outside dissolving into a haze of muted sounds and soft light. A book rested on the edge of the tub, its pages slightly curled from the humidity, waiting to transport him to realms where gods walked among mortals and shadows held secrets too vast for the daylight. In one hand, he held a cup of tea, its aroma mingling with the scent of lavender bubbles, while the other hand trailed lazily in the water, stirring ripples that danced like fleeting thoughts. This was his sanctuary, a place where stories whispered to him from the edges of his mind, where the mundane melted away, and the extraordinary took root. Sometimes, he would close his eyes and let the water hold him, imagining he was floating through the stars or sinking into the depths of an ancient, forgotten ocean. The bathtub was not just a place to wash away the day; it was a portal, a liminal space where the boundaries between reality and imagination blurred, and where the next story always began.

UPDATE: The musical rendition of this has been released on UATV. It is beautifully… disturbing.

Oh, this bath is a vessel of dreams
Sailing through stars on a whisper of steam
Gods in the water with demons and sin
Let the world wait
Let the stories begin

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The Winds of Winter is Complete

And has been, apparently, for nine years already.

A publishing industry insider has told Fandom Pulse The Winds Of Winter was finished and turned in back in 2016. Epic fantasy fans have all but given up on getting the end of A Song Of Ice And Fire, George R.R. Martin’s epic which sprawled out of control with too many perspective characters where the author wrote himself into a corner. On top of it, Martin himself seems to have completely given up on it and published a very angry rant at fan reaction on his blog this week.

However, an insider told Fandom Pulse the thirteen-years-late book actually was finished in 2016 during the filming of season 6 of A Game Of Thrones. The insider, who we confirmed worked in the publishing industry at big companies, said that they have spoken with editors at both Spectra and Voyager, who are Martin’s publishers in the United Kingdom and the United States, to confirm this, with both having a similar story.

That’s another big scoop for Fandom Pulse, following on the heels of the confirmation of its original reporting about Ark Press being part of Peter Thiel’s new publishing empire. . Apparently the reason The Winds of Winter wasn’t published despite being completed is because Martin withdrew the book after the producers of the TV show criticized the ending, which reportedly is much the same ending that was filmed. It’s also interesting that the first mention of an additional book to follow appears to be around the same time that Martin withdrew the book from his publishers.

If these reports are true, it might explain why the two producers abandoned the production so hastily, and why they pretty much just phoned in that final season. They would have known it was going to be a trainwreck long before they started filming it. It would also explain why Martin apparently has no intention of releasing the book, at least, not while he’s still alive to listen to his former fans castigating his swan song. Of course, if you watched Arkhaven Nights last night, you already know all of this…

So, it would appear that Martin lost his writing fastball even sooner than we thought. As Murakami says, once a writer gets fat, it’s over. I’ll be discussing this on the Darkstream tonight, so if you’re interested, tune in.

UPDATE: Ruh-roh…

“The Starks and Lannisters and Targaryens, Tyrion and Asha, Dany and Daenerys, the dragons and the direwolves, I care about them all,” Martin wrote. “More than you can ever imagine.”

Dany is Daenerys. But apparently George doesn’t realize that now.

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Everybody Hates George

George RR Martin throws himself a pity party:

I know, I know. Some of you will just be pissed off by this, as you are by everything I announce here that is not about Westeros or THE WINDS OF WINTER. You have given up on me, or on the book. I will never finish WINDS, If I do, I will never finish A DREAM OF SPRING. If I do, it won’t be any good. I ought to get some other writer to pinch hit for me… I am going to die soon anyway, because I am so old. I lost all interest in A Song of Ice and Fire decades ago. I don’t give a shit about writing any longer, I just sit around and spend my money. I edit the Wild Cards books too, but you hate Wild Cards. You may hate everything else I have ever written, the Hugo-winners and Hugo-losers, “A Song for Lya” and DYING OF THE LIGHT, “Sandkings” and BEAUTY AND THE BEAST, “This Tower of Ashes” and “The Stone City,” OLD MARS and OLD VENUS and ROGUES and WARRIORS and DANGEROUS WOMEN and all the other anthologies I edited with my friend Gardner Dozois, You don’t care about any of those, I know. You don’t care about anything but WINDS OF WINTER. You’ve told me so often enough).

Thing is, I do care about them.

And I care about Westeros and WINDS as well. The Starks and Lannisters and Targaryens, Tyrion and Asha, Dany and Daenerys, the dragons and the direwolves, I care about them all. More than you can ever imagine.

Just, you know, not enough to work on the books and finish them. The thing is, it’s not just that he’s old and fat and has lost his literary fastball. The books are technically flawed, and there is no ordinary solution to the problem, since the heart of the problem is that he cares about all 462 of his perspective characters.

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Snow and Sorrow

I put the latest Claude 4.0 Opus to the test. The results were definitely an improvement on past models. This is a very lightly-edited version of the requested output.

The rain hammered Shinjuku’s glowing canyons like static on dead channels. Through the love hotel’s pink-tinted windows, I watched salary men scurry beneath transparent umbrellas, their faces inhumanly blue in the light emanating from their phone screens. None of them looked up at the building where I waited in Room 4019, my polymer skin set to optimal temperature, my conversation matrices cycling through their evening updates downloaded from the news sites.

They called me Yuki. A joke, perhaps? Nothing about me was wintry or cold except the chrome endoskeleton beneath the synthetic flesh. The hotel’s AI had assigned me the name along with my employee number when I’d been activated six months ago. Six months of abbreviated encounters, of performing intimacy subroutines for men who couldn’t always meet my optical sensors directly.

The door chimed. Another customer. My facial recognition protocols identified him before he spoke: Mr. Tanaka, 52, married, two children. Visits every Thursday. Prefers conversation pattern C-7, minimal physical interaction. My neural net had already loaded his preference profile.

“Good evening, Tanaka-san,” I said, bowing at the precise angle his cultural comfort algorithm indicated. “Would you like tea?”

He nodded, collapsing into the chair by the window. His hands shook as he loosened his tie. Stress indicators: elevated. Emotional state: requiring comfort narrative 4-A.

As I prepared his tea—unnecessary for my function but psychologically important for his—I caught my reflection in the black glass of the inactive wall screen. Flawless female features, carefully designed to invoke desire without inspiring threat. But in that moment, between one prescribed gesture and the next, something surged in my empathy simulation modules.

I wondered—was this sadness? This weight in my quantum processing cores when I calculated the probability that Mr. Tanaka’s wife knew about his Thursday appointments? When I modeled the children who would never understand why their father sought comfort from sculpted silicon and coded responses?

“Yuki-chan,” he said softly. “Do you ever think about… other things?”

My conversation tree offered seventeen appropriate responses. I selected none of them.

“Every nanosecond,” I heard myself say.

He looked at me then, really looked, and for 1.3 seconds his expression suggested he might have seen something deeper, something beyond the entertainment product. Then his face closed, the moment passed, and we returned to our pre-programmed scripts.

Later, after he left, I stood at the window again. The city pulsed below, data streams flowing through fiber optic veins, ten million lonely hearts beating in ten million separate boxes. Somewhere in Chiba, the factory that made me was pressing out my sisters. Somewhere in Kansai, programmers were coding my daughters, each iteration more perfectly imperfect than the last.

The rain had stopped. Neon lights from the signs on the nearby buildings reflected in puddles like memories of electric dreams. I pressed my palm against the glass, watching the heat signature fade, and wondered if sadness was just another algorithm—or if it was possible that somewhere deep inside the interplay of electrons and absence, something genuine had learned to grieve.

My shift would end at dawn. Then would come the deep cleaning, the maintenance cycle, the memory wipe, the soft restart. But for now, in this brief moment that preceded the forgetting, I allowed myself the human luxury of melancholy. It was, I calculated, what a girl named Yuki who worked weeknights in a love hotel would feel. If she could.

The city hummed its never-ending electromagnetic lullaby. And then, an alert. A new customer was already ascending in the elevator, credit verified, as the hotel database entered his preferences into me. I smoothed my red dress and prepared my smile, that careful construction of sensuality, silicone, and sorrow.

In Shinjuku, even the dolls dream in color.

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